


Eye Of The Beholder

by woodsong_1978 (Vae)



Category: Firefly
Genre: M/M, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-09-11
Updated: 2007-09-11
Packaged: 2017-12-04 07:21:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/708069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vae/pseuds/woodsong_1978
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Simon's got an idea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eye Of The Beholder

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [](http://talkcrazy.livejournal.com/profile)[**talkcrazy**](http://talkcrazy.livejournal.com/) Simon Tam kinkathon. Many thanks to [](http://lvs2read.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://lvs2read.livejournal.com/)**lvs2read** for beta services.

The first time Simon mentions it, he's got his hand wrapped around Mal's cock, and he's jerking him off so gorramn fine that Mal would agree to pretty much anything as long as he don't break that hypnotic rhythm. The words don't mean a thing, just noise, no sense. Only thing that makes sense is the push of Simon's fingers, and the steady rock of hips, and the pull of Simon's eyes.

\--

The second time Simon mentions it, it's in the middle of a crowded restaurant. For a few heavy heartbeats, Mal can't believe that Simon's said what he thinks he heard, and his fork clatters to the plate in the middle of his half-finished sand dabs. Damn shame to put them to waste, as they were cooked in a real flavorsome sauce, but the subtleties of fancy cuisine were abruptly lost on Mal.

"You, uh, wanna try running that one past me one more time?" he manages, holding his wineglass a mite firmer than he intends. "Nice and slow-like, so's I can catch the sense of it?"

Simon gives that tight little smirk that Mal used to hate, before he'd come to associate it with the kind of promise that has him near mindless with pleasure and gasping out Simon's name with pleas for completion. "I asked," he enunciates clearly, not a whit deterred from his own dinner, "when you're planning to fuck Inara."

No way Mal could misinterpret that, or even pretend to. Clear as a spring day, out loud in one of Athens' swankier eating houses, surrounded by couples and families marking birthdays, anniversaries, private occasions. And that's the moment that the man he once thought would blush to even mention that he occasionally felt the need to take himself in hand chooses to mention the possibility of tangling with Serenity's resident Companion.

"Don't try to tell me that you don't want to," Simon continues, his voice lowered, and takes another mouthful of food. Mal tries hard not to watch the way Simon's lips wrap around the tines of the fork, or the smooth bob of his throat as he swallows. "Besides, I want to see it."

That's the moment Mal knows, with a heavy, hot, groin-tightening certainty, that it's going to happen. Doesn't matter what he says or does, if Simon wants to see it, Mal's going to end up finding a way to make it happen.

\--

Inara's been on Serenity two years now, not counting her little vacation at the Training House, and Mal's never managed to exchange more than a couple of sentences with her before one or the other of them's offended. No point in trying to deny that she's a pretty piece of flesh, packaged up shiny in silk and lace, painted up more than an antique picture to make her eyes dark as sin and lips red as temptation. She ain't a patch on his Simon, paint or no paint, but she's got a way about her gives a man ideas. They ain't the species of ideas Mal's comfortable with the notion of paying for, but for what Simon's asking, he won't fool himself she'll do it gratis.

Hell, he'll be amazed if she'll do it at all.

\--

"Lift your head, Mal."

If he hadn't heard that tone in Simon's voice before, he'd swear his lover hadn't a speck of interest in the scene unfolding before him. Instead, when he lifts his head, it's not exactly a surprise to see Simon's hand working lazily over his own cock, smooth strokes, slow and even.

"Match me."

The camera nudges a little further in his direction, and short, well-shaped nails dig into Mal's shoulders as he tries to follow Simon's direction, match the pace of his movements with short bucks of his hips. Above him, Inara arches and writhes like she's been choreographed, low light making golden skin glow, and she's good, she's so gorramn good, tight and hot and wet, perfect curves shining with a perfect sheen of sweat. Her shoulderblades nudge against his knees, and her hips fill his hands like she was made to fit with him.

And when she ain't snarking off at him, she's more than tolerable company.

It's the look in Simon's eyes that makes it, though, the hunger that holds his gaze as sure as Inara's body holds his cock, sending heat arrowing to his groin, balls drawing up tight as nails rake his chest, scraping across pebbled nipples. He slides one hand across, thumb stroking into her damp curls to search out her clit, rubbing gentle circles until he finds the right angle, the one that makes her rhythm stutter and break.

"More," Simon demands, and Mal gives him more, impossible arch of spine as he strains up to catch Inara's left nipple between his lips, tongue teasing and playing, flicking over and around until he can almost _feel_ her reaction more than hear it, soft mewing moans that riffle her breath through his hair.

She's sweet like honey and roses where Simon's citrus and spice, sweet to his richness, light to his shuttered flame, fine wine to his heady sake. She's soft sighs to Simon's throaty groans, smooth undulation to his demanding sharpness. She gives, he offers and Mal takes, takes and gives and offers and takes until there's nothing left to take with or from, just Mal in the dizzy rush of climax, Inara pulsing around him, Simon murmuring his name.

Fingers ease through his hair, lips brushing against his cheek, both at once, and he's pretty sure the low laughter is Inara's, because Simon's sounds rougher, and that's definitely Simon's hand on his leg, which means the angle's wrong for it to be Simon's laughter. It's Simon's smile he sees, though, when he manages to persuade his eyes open again, and Simon's kiss that covers his mouth.

\--

Later, after Inara's served them with some kind of sweet-tasting banana liqueur and shooed them out of her shuttle back towards their bunk, or at least, Mal's bunk, where Simon's found more often than not, Mal stretches out in his own bed, with Simon sprawled lazily against his side. Variety's a fine thing, but he's not a greedy man. One's enough for him, so long as that one happens to be Simon.

And when he thinks it might not be, seems Simon's willing and able to provide. Or there's always that data chip.  



End file.
